


Shithead boyfriends

by KristenAli



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A little bit of everything, Big Gay Love Story, Boyfriends, Chris wasn't always this sexual, Chris' Mystery Man - Freeform, Chris' boyfriend's name is Stéphane, Christophe Giacometti and his boyfriend, Christophe Giacometti's Boyfriend - Freeform, Christophe finding himself, Developing Chris' beautiful sexuality, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Fluff, Gay, Happy birthday Christophe Giacometti, Hate to Love, He's also really protective, I love Chris honestly, Ice Skating, Love, M/M, Mystery Man to Boyfriend, Mystery man, Not all smut, Plot, Self Confidence Issues, Sexuality, Shy beginning, Slow Burn, Smut, Sometimes not the most cannon thing ever, Sports, Stéphane is kind of scrappy, Yuri on Ice - Freeform, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristenAli/pseuds/KristenAli
Summary: This is basically a result of my obsession with finding out who Mystery Man was when Chris was talking to him. It is a very long fic with a lot of plot, not going to lie.Mystery Man (Stéphane) is an ice dance choreographer. What happens when an uppity and unfulfilled Chrisophe Giacometti (influenced by his controlling coach) is forced to share the ice during his after hour practice sessions? Is Stéphane really as insignificant as Chris believes him to be at the beginning?(Couldn't think of a better day other than Chris' birthday to post this fic! Happy birthday!)





	1. Chapter 1

If calm could kill, then this would for sure be a crime scene.

The tempo grabbed at his blades, pulling them into beautiful alignment and constraint. It coiled around his wrists and chained him to what seemed heavy enough to translate an estimated value of its age. The weight brought him down not technically in skill, but in passion. It constructed itself around him, boxing him into whatever it wanted him to be and embellished the exterior. The box was old and decrepit, like something found in a forgotten corner of an attic within a home built in the 1820’s, heaving and decaying as time passed and grew and bringing whatever was inside along with it. However, in the right atmosphere, this box would click with the ease of a puzzle piece. Some might have said it even enhanced the appearance of a given space, if refurbished and positioned intricately among adorned vintage wallpaper and matte pastels.

Needless to say, Christophe Giacometti was not vintage in style…and his interest in pastels was limited.

He skidded to a stop on his blades, cutting into the ice for what seemed to be the first time since he took his footing for the routine. It let out a satisfying graze of shaved flurries into the air around his feet. It was over.

His senses greeted him slowly. The noise of the crowd crept into his ears and to his brain, moving from an indistinct undertone to a loud chatter. He breathed, looking around. A smile formed along his lips and he grinned, despite feeling as though he cheated off someone else’s test. He had been learning to deal with it, though. Chris took a moment to wave to the cheering people and then glided back to the gate where his coach greeted him.

“You have done well, Christophe. That was much better than what we’ve practiced.” Ivar Florin praised, hugging Chris briefly when the skater had stepped off the ice. Ivar had given Chris a number of things to focus on during practice and he had indeed done what was asked. He was finally done with his free skate, and it was time to wait. He sat down with Ivar and looked out along the wall of skaters getting ready to perform their routine. Ivar, sitting nervously next to him, began to talk about what Chris needed to work on before the next season. Chris folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, watching and unintentionally losing interest in what he was saying as he looked at other skaters in his sight. They all seemed to have something in their eyes, something that Chris used to be familiar with until he was wrapped up and sealed away.

_“But Ivar, this song is awful. It’s too slow…I mean, I don’t know how you can even expect me to get the jumps into it.” Chris argued, his hand tapping at the rink wall as his other hand rested on his waist. Ivar glared at his skater._

_“Christophe, with the way that skating has evolved, I just think you’ll do better with a more classical piece. Judges like to see when you bring it back to the basics. The instrumentals are so beautiful…and dignified, for that matter!.” He tried to explain. Chris felt his face reddening._

_“I simply won’t do it. I won’t. Other skaters use all different music each season. We are always doing the same old, boring stuff. I have some songs in mind, just-”_

_“No. Christophe. Those songs, the ones you have in mind, are never going to land you a spot on that podium!” Ivar growled, his eyes hard as they bore into his pupil. Chris felt his teeth clench down hard. He looked away, angry. Ivar rolled his eyes. “If you want those songs, find a new coach who will tolerate it. I simply will not let my best skater dig his own grave. Not while my name is tied to him.” Ivar snapped, walking hastily away from the ice. “You’d best get back to that routine! It needs work.” He walked quickly, grabbing his back off the bench._

_“Yeah?! Well maybe I will! I don’t have to be_ your _best skater, you know! I can get anyone else to be my coach!” He called back. However, his coach kept walking until he had turned sharply out of the rink, leaving Chris to watch the space where Ivar had disappeared from. He looked away and turned, looking down at the ice. He thought about walking away. He would leave Ivar, find a new coach, find a choreographer to work with said coach, and win. He’d win so many damn metals that they’d overflow Ivar’s room dedicated to his own ego._

_However, he didn’t leave. He couldn’t. Ivar was right, the music he had picked would never land him a coach or a choreographer who would support this. He was good, but not that good. He would never be able to make the Finals if he kept resisting Ivar instead of putting his effort into improving the routine. His confidence crashed as he turned back around and grabbed the remote for the music player, turning on the soft melody of pianos and instrumental arrangement. It taunted him, poking fun at the fact that he had given in. If Chris wanted to win, he would not leave. He would adapt to what Ivar thought was best. Ivar won more metals than him, Ivar should know._

_Chris sighed, his head dipping and settling into his features. He was almost sure it was permanent. The music drabbed on. The ice licked the bottom of his blades, beckoning him. Chris pushed off the wall and began the routine from the top, suppressing his instinct to tell Ivar to shove off and never look back._

“…and finally, we have a score for Chris Giacometti! A personal best of 141.36, giving him a combined total of 210.32. This score is 1.65 points more than Eduard Ruban of Ukraine in 7th place, advancing him from 12th to 6th place…” Ivar smiled slightly, looking at Chris. Chris frowned. It wasn’t enough to advance him from the European Nationals. He wasn’t going to win like this. He wanted to win. He craved it. As he thought about it, Russian skater Viktor Nikiforov shifted onto the ice. Chris watched as the ice and this man became one single piece. The music didn’t drag him down, but gently encircled his waist and lifted him above the surface. He was hovering. It was as if the ice had turned to velvet at the touch of the silver haired man. Then again, Chris understood. He and Viktor were friends, after all.

Ultimately, by the end of the night Ivar had begun his plan of the next season and Viktor had, expectantly, stolen the podium. It wasn’t surprising by the way both of his routines went, if they were even titled routines. They seemed more like masterpieces. Later that night, he and Chris met up and went for a drink. Viktor would tell him not to worry, that Viktor didn’t start out at the top either. He nodded along to his comment, smiling halfheartedly. He was happy for Viktor, he just wished he could make it to a level where he could stand on the same podium.

Chris had ended in 10th place, pushing him further down from where he already was and out of the qualification for the Grand Prix Final.

\---

The following competitions flew by and Chris was working hard with Ivar in order to really strive this season. He needed to work harder, longer. This time, it’d be different. He was determined to reach that level of connection with the ice and the music as Viktor had achieved. There was a fire within him that kept him in that one mindset. The mindset that would hopefully lead him to win.

Night soon began to nestle down throughout the skating rink. The sunset dip below the windowsills, creating an array of pink light reflecting off the surface of the ice. The blades swung gently at his sides as he walked through the hallway toward the rink, his shoes scuffing gently at the floor below him. Everything appeared to be in place as it always had been when he came at this time. The owners of the rink were honored to allow Switzerland’s figure skater in after hours.

It wasn’t until he began to get closer that he saw the glow of the performance lights carrying distant tunes into the hallway. They were not his usual tunes, there must have been someone else here.

“Ridiculous.” He commented, annoyance unable to conceal its presence within the articulation of his breath. _This rink is mine._

His footsteps grew heavier and his muscles clenched at the idea of someone else being present. He had work to do, and a lot of it, if he wanted to stand with Viktor Nikiforov next season. Being able to stand on the podium in the Grand Prix Final was biggest thing he’d ever want. Viktor had sure inspired that back when his hair was long and adorned by blue flowers. Chris would do anything he could in order to be just like Viktor, even if it meant changing his own self to fit that category.

Chris made his way into the rink in time to see the figure of a tall man skating along the ice. The music…well the music was nothing like the instrumental pieces that Chris was dancing to. Instead, they were upbeat, smooth, and dare he say…sexy? Chris ran a hand through his blonde hair, letting his breath out in accordance with his annoyance, shaking a few sparse thoughts from his head. 

He walked along the edge of the rink, watching the man who was in the middle of a spin. The man lowered himself, bringing his leg out before smoothly rotating into a slow circle, flicking his arms and hair back and then around his torso in a way that made it seem effortless. The music accompanied his movements.

 _Definitely sexy._ Chris thought, his eyes momentarily widening as his fingers clenched at the blades within his grasp. The man finally flowed out of the movements and then skated over toward the side of the rink. Chris watched this as well as he stood paused at the wall adjacent to where this man was. He noticed that the skater had a notebook on the rink’s rim waiting for him. The music stopped and the man picked up a pencil, moving closer to scribble in a few notes. Chris took this chance to shake himself back out of his thoughts before walking toward him, his pace was deliberate and strong.

“Excuse me, this rink is normally closed to the public at this hour.” Chris said, walking toward him to stand in front of the skater. The skater’s long brown hair perked up with his gaze, studying Chris. He straightened, taking in the blonde man’s stance and tone. The skater shifted and smiled slightly, forcibly.

“Yes, I actually have special permission from the owners of the rink.” The man informed, moving the hair away from his face. Chris stood in front of him now.

“That’s impossible…I-“

“You’re Chris Giacometti.” The skater commented, his brows raising. Chris nodded at him. “Switzerland’s finest skater. See, I’m actually a choreographer and I asked the owners if I could have a piece of the rink in your time slot, I don’t have any time other than this…I won’t take up much room.” He stated. Chris’ face grew slightly pinker. How could they book another person in his slot?

“You couldn’t have taken an earlier one? I mean, free skate and hockey ends at four. It’s 8:00 now,” Chris stated sharply. This was his ice.

“…What?” Mystery man asked, a bit taken-aback by the other man’s response.

“You heard me. Find some other time, I can’t afford to lose practice time just because some unprofessional _skummis_ ,” Lowlife.

“I’m sorry, but _some_ people _tend_ to have a job. I happen to be one of them.” He began to write something else in his book, working on ignoring the skater before him.

“Well I’m sorry, but this happens to _be_ my job,” Chris nailed back, earning a snap up of the man’s head in front of him. “Like you said, Switzerland’s best skater.” Chris’ chin tilted upwards slightly with smile that screamed spite. The other man rolled his eyes. Like his job was honesty any different. His job was also relying on the presence of the ice rink.

“Look, you just stay on your side, and I will stay on mine? I’ll even let you have the stereo if you want it?” He answered with restraint. Chris huffed and quickly walked away. He began to hastily put on his skates and pull out his phone and earbuds. This was going to be annoying.

\---

The mystery man left at some point while Chris had been practicing. When he did, Chris was very glad to be rid of him. That meant that he got the rink speakers back, even though they had been offered to him. It wasn’t exactly as much of a hassle as Chris had been thinking, they both stayed on their side of the rink basically. Chris couldn’t help but steal glances of what the other man had been doing. The moves were just so…sensational really. The way he placed certain spins and glides with the rhythm and mood of the music drew Chris in like a moth to a light. He could feel his own moves shifting ever so slightly out of the box Ivar had put him inside of. However, his music did not allow for such a feeling as what the choreographer had been displaying.

Chris and the man would come in and hardly acknowledge one another. Although Chris often found himself watching mystery man, he never once asked him of his name nor acknowledged him. Not after the first few days. Once in a while they would both make some sort of awkward eye contact. Other times, they would fling snappy comments back and forth at one another mostly pertaining to staying on the side either was assigned to. They would even argue about who’s line on the ice from their skates would be messing who up during practices.

Passive aggressive comments were also often part of their social routine. The uppity air pushed the words from their mouths. It wasn’t the most constructive atmosphere, for sure. The air of competition from his last skate season followed Chris into even his practices now.

Every day that Chris went, mystery man would be skating first. He was usually always there before Chris. Despite the instance that Chris and the man often did not get along, they both did guiltily admire one another as he skated. An almost magnetic force would capture their attention, drawing it toward the skater on the other side of the rink. Chris would often watch the man’s movements and the other skater would also keep an eye on Chris, if only with side glances and stolen viewings.

 One day, however, Chris was walking down the hallway as he usually did on his way to the ice and noticed something quite strange.

There was no music coming from the rink arena.

Chris grew more curious, also taking note that there were no lights shining into the end of the hallway either. He flipped them on.

No one was there.

Part of him was definitely relieved. _Maybe he picked another rink, at least for today. Or maybe he just isn’t coming._ Chris needed truthfully to practice and work harder than what he was currently doing. The mixture of music was something that was becoming difficult for him. It was hard to focus on something he didn’t want to do when another style was calling out completely to him.

Another part of him, however, was…disappointed? The way the man moved was certainly entrancing. While practicing, Chris would often find his mind wandering to what he would do when mystery man’s music played. Mystery man, although they didn’t exactly get along, was company. He didn’t feel as though he was alone. Now, with the ink to himself, everything seemed uncharacteristically quiet.

Chris sighed despite everything and took the remote to the audio player and brought it with him, placing it onto the rink’s side wall. He turned the volume up on the stereo, resulting in a buzz that resonated against the walls of the rink. His thumb found the play button and Chris pushed away from the wall, taking his stance in the middle of the ice as the music began to play. He stared with soft movements to the instrumental notes. He was getting better at containing himself more and his coach was becoming a little bit happier with him every proceeding practice. It was finally becoming more normal to him. Chris continued to skate, his subconscious keeping him away from the mystery man’s side instinctively. It felt a bit…strange, though. Off.

Meanwhile, footsteps gently echoed softly down the hallway to the rink, ear perking to the soft melodies coming from the ice. Mystery man, or Stéphane as other people knew him, was walking in to begin practicing, approximately 30 minutes after Chris had begun. He was late due to a rescheduled meeting with one of his figure skaters and her coach. He was going to be making extra changes to her program for her tonight and needed all the time he could get.

Stéphane peaked his head around the corner into the rink, seeing just what he expected to see. Chris Giacometti was practicing his routine. This was the first time that Stéphane heard Chris’ program music, as it was usually kept contained by earbuds within the skater’s ears. He snuck into the rink quietly, wanting to witness the program. He sat down quietly on the bleachers and undid the tie from around his neck.

Chris was mid-practice toward the beginning of the routine and had yet to do his spins and such after spending time cleaning up some of the step sequences and stretching correctly. Stéphane admired how graceful the man in front of him was, how very flexible he moved. However, it seemed like he kept his hips and associated movements contained. The choreographer’s trained eye noticed that there were many things that could be exaggerated, which would open his movements up from being simply graceful to spellbinding.

Stéphane looked on, watching and critiquing Chris himself through silent thought. He noticed a few specific areas he would personally change. Perhaps the biggest change he would make would be the song the choreography was set to. The motion did not seem to be as fluid as what he envisioned Chris’ movements to be. In fact, it seemed like Chris might have even been fighting himself as he skated along.

Chris finally swung gently off into the middle of the ice and moved into the ending formation, one arm dipped down in front of him and the other swooping up delicately. His breath heaved and he slowly began to move out of formation. As he moved, mystery man stood up from his place, opposite to where Chris was facing. He began to clap, holding his suit jacket over one arm. He smiled almost mischievously at the man on the ice.

Chris turned quickly around, his eyes widening in surprise. He was even more surprised to see that it was _that_ man again. Why would he ever infer that he would have picked another rink? Chris’ face turned pink as he settled in on the man’s features, letting out a grumble.

“Hey, that was pretty good.” Mystery man commented, clapping his hands together. “I could help you make it better, though.” He offered in an alluring tone, lowering his hands as he walked toward the side of the rink and Chris.

“Hmph.” Chris blew off, waving his hand in the air as he tried to turn away from him. “Trust me, Switzerland’s figure skater has enough more professional, more reliable, people to help him. I don’t need your help.” He snarked, with a small and sour chuckle. Mystery man tilted his head.

“Oh relax, Switzerland’s _best._ ” He replied sarcastically. “I’m simply offering my help,” A pause and transition into a lower, yet sly tone crept into his words. “I’ve noticed you watching me sometimes.” He folded his arms in front of him, closing his eyes with a teasing expression and playful jerk of his head. Chris’ face grew redder as he turned to face the man.

“Who-how-what?! You think that _I’m_ watching _you?”_ Chris stammered, his brows inching together. His heart beat against his chest and a bead of sweat formed on his face. _Am I that obvious?_ He asked.

“Well, I don’t know what else you could possibly be watching.” The man replied, sitting down on the bench as he began to lace up his skates. Chris moved to the wall closest to him, frowning.

“What do you mean? You stole half of my ice; I have to watch to see how far from you I am…. we have sides, remember?” Chris felt himself grow calmer. Yes, that was simply the reason. It had nothing to do with this…. with this man. The man flicked his brown hair up and out of his face as he continued to finish lacing them up. He smirked.

“Oh yes, I suppose that’s a prime reason considering you just skated perfectly without even a single glance to my usual side…” He stood up and walked to the ice, stepping onto it and pushing off the wall past Chris. They were used to the sides by now. Neither needed to look to know where the boundaries were. He moved quickly to the center, moving to take note of where the skater’s blade lines were. Chris moved his torso to watch him, his eyes wide and mouth open trying to find a comeback to that information.

“I…you-I didn’t need to worry about you so-“ He lost it, flailing slightly. Mystery man folded his arms again, standing by the imaginary border.

“Not even a line over it I see, eh?” He smirked playfully. Chris watched him, absorbing the image before him.

Mystery man was not usually as dressed up as he was in this moment. The man usually wore something like a black sweater and some simple skating pants…but today, today was different.

Tonight the man was in what he would probably wear for work. He wore grey dress pants that seemed not too stiff, yet folded into his curvature nicely. His light blue button down was partially unbuttoned at the top, offering a slightly ruffled look to his collar. His grey suit vest was opened all the way and flowed at his sides ever so gently when he skated. It seemed as though that earlier in the day, the man’s hair would have been slicked back, but had lost its rigidity with the wear of the day. The light hit the man as if he himself were the one radiating it. Chris could only stare. This was the first time he’d ever really _looked_ at him…and boy was he glad he did.

The man tilted his head slightly at the site of seeing Chris’ flustered appearance, but associated it with the awkwardness of being called out about not crossing into his portion of the ice. He unfolded his arms and began to kick off toward the other skater.

‘Not that it really matters, I’m just playing around with you a little.” He smiled, softer this time. Chris admired the more relaxed curvature of his face, his heart fluttering gently in his chest as the man began skating toward him. “I really did like your program, I just think there’s a few things that could really help you with your journey to the Grand Prix Finals….I watched you last season and noticed a few of the same things that I believe cost you some points.” He skated slowly to Chris. Chris didn’t really know what to do, so he nodded.

“Oh…okay…” He agreed, almost breathlessly. “Well…I mean I guess I could take some of your suggestions into consideration and talk to my coach about it.” He admitted, the feigned reluctance in his voice more of a product of being so close to this guy. Stéphane shrugged his words off, raising his brows briefly and shaking his head once.

“For one, your ending curvature was a little strange…” He said, moving out to replicate Chris’ moves. He began from just before Chris’ long swing into the final pose. He replicated it, moving out and then in with an opposite spin from the original curve. “Instead of that, why don’t you try something more like…” He retook position and then did the same thing, but changed the curves from moving out and then in to just plain in. He also added a quicker loop spin that allowed him to rotate decreasingly in the final position before finally stopping. Chris’ lined forehead relaxed slightly as he watched.

Even though Chris hated to be showed up, he couldn’t help but admit to himself that the man’s moves did seem to fit more efficiently.

Chris and Stéphane began to work on a few more minor improvements, which took Chris a few times to amend. They began to finish up about two hours later.

“Good job so far, I really think some of these will help you out. Your coach should really enjoy these changes as well.” Mystery man smiled at him, moving next to Chris once more. “One more thing though, which I do believe is the most important,” He informed. Chris tilted his head to glance at him. The man placed his hands gently onto Chris’ hips, the heat radiating from his hands, permeating Chris’ skating pants.

“Loosen up your body, Christophe, the ice is ridged enough. You need to melt it a little…” He said lowly, now scooched closer behind Chris. Chris felt his face flush, draining of all previous color. He then began to turn a shade naturally exhibited by tomatoes, as if his skin was a chameleon attempting to blend in with the background of his embarrassment.

“Ah….I ah…okay.” Chris stammered slightly, gently pushing into the ice and out of this man’s grasp. He felt his palms dampen as well as his brow. How could someone expect him to actually start focusing and skating now?

He pushed into the formation again starting at a small chunk in his routine. He began to move rhythmically, already feeling just a tad freer. Mystery man skated over closer, analyzing the other skater in front of him.

“Hmmm…yes…” He said, his hands moving out to Chris’ hips once more. Chris tried to basically avoid them in embarrassment, but he didn’t get out of the way quickly enough. He felt the man’s hands once more, this time they were facing one another. The brown haired man then pulled in even closer to Chris. Chris felt his heart pound in his chest, feeling the front of this man’s suit vest scrape Chris’ own clothing. He felt his hands once again, even more so firm than before.

“But…just a tad tighter in this upper portion would wonderfully, I think…” He said lowly, physically steadying Chris while also moving him a bit. Chris could feel the acquaintance’s hot breath against his skin. He glanced up and saw how close their lips were. If only…

No. This was wrong. This was definitely wrong.

Chris pushed away, his face seemingly taking on a permanent red hue. The man was surprised at Chris’ response and looked at him curiously. Chris breathed, looking at him wide-eyed. He paused for a minute.

“…are you okay? You look a bit…red?” He commented, tilting his head slightly. Chris straightened and tried to hide everything and anything that could be possibly crossing his mind.

“I’m fine.” He said, his voice fluttering. He looked down at the ice and quickly skated toward the gate to the rink, leaving Stéphane to watch him curiously. “I’m sorry, I just forgot about something I had to do.” Chris explained, stepping off the ice. “Excuse me.”

The mystery man watched him for a moment, one hand scooting onto the nape of his neck. “Oh…okay…” He called back. _He never schedules things during his practice time. Did I say or do something to offend him maybe?_

Chris quickly put his stuff away and took his skates off, working as quickly as he could. His heart still raced. He needed to just get out of there. He couldn’t stand being _that_ close, and yet not close enough. As he did so, the man who had flustered him made his way back to “his” side of the ice after stepping off the side opposite to Chris to grab his choreography notebook. Chris stood and was about to make a run for it when he stopped dead in his tracks. It was as if his feet forbid him to leave just yet. Chris turned around.

“Hey!” Chris shouted over to him. He saw the man’s dark brown hair flow rapidly in the direction he looked. “What’s your name?” He asked curiously.

“My name? Stéphane.” The man on the ice answered. Chris felt his face flush more.

“Thank you…for helping me, Stéphane.” Chris thanked, his eyes averting in embarrassment before his feet allowed him to quickly rush out into the hallway. Stéphane watched him leave, his eyes lingering on the door momentarily. A small smile formed on his lips.

“You’re welcome.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Hope you all enjoy!  
> (I'm rushing to post this because I only have a minute left of class but I always update fanfiction when I'm in my Equine class because you basically can't pay attention. Lol)

Over the course of the next few days, Chris would show up to the rink even earlier than he had before. He found himself asking why he felt this way so often now. It was as if he could hardly wait to get there. Of course, this could be contributed to the fact that he would get to see Stéphane. Things had gotten much…better over the last week.

It really started the day after the two first opened up to one another. Chris originally walked into the rink a bit nervously, more nervous than he had been before. He gripped the blades in his hands, his mind rushing with all sorts of uncontrolled emotions. They lit him afire, like someone dumped a well-placed pile of kindling into a small spark within him. It caught flame and Chris could feel that heat licking at him as he eagerly set off to see Stéphane. He walked into the room and began to lace up his skates. He didn’t dare look up at Stéphane, semi-embarrassed at what he was feeling and what he wanted to ask. When they were on, Chris headed onto the ice and began to skate around momentarily. Stéphane scribbled quietly to himself in his notebook, as if Chris and him hadn’t talked at all yesterday…either that or he just didn’t notice. Chris wasn’t sure which one.

After a few moments of hesitation, Chris felt his hands finally pause in their fidgeting and still at his sides.

“Stéphane.” He called over to him. Stéphane’s head snapped up, looking toward him curiously.

“Yes, Christophe?” Stéphane answered, turning his body as he leaned on the wall, pencil still held loosely in his hand. His sage green sweater contrasted against the locks of his dark brown hair. Chris swallowed gently and looked down.

“Will you…will you help me with movements for my programs? I mean, I figured since you had some valid points yesterday that…well maybe you could look at the rest of it?” He asked, looking up to meet his eyes. Stéphane had turned so that his back was leaning against the dividing wall now, a hint of satisfaction and entertainment playing on his features. He lolled his head to the side.

“Why should I spend my time that I could be using to make money just to show you how to move your body, Mr. Switzerland?” He asked teasingly, his brows lifting. Chris tilted his head a bit, his face reddening slightly.

“Why?  I mean could you imagine what it’d do to your resume? I mean, especially when I make it to the Grand Prix Final.” Chris offered. Stéphane rolled his eyes and turned back over slowly toward his notebook.

“Resume boosters don’t appeal to me, I have quite enough of them.” He sighed. Chris’ eyes widened.

“Well, either way it’s a good way to get more clients. I mean when they find out you aided a skater of that level…” Chris tried to lure. Stéphane didn’t budge, picking his pencil again.

“Dull. I have a waitlist of skaters.” He muttered, continuing. Chris skated a bit closer to him now, angry.

“Then what do _you_ want, since apparently, you’re not a rational person who wants something that others _wish_ they could get their hands on?!” Chris asked angrily. Stéphane looked over his shoulder carelessly.

“What a way to talk to the man you’re practically begging to help you…” He teased.

“What?! Shut up, you moron! That’s most definitely _not_ the case, I just want my program to be consistent.” Chris denied, crossing his arms. Stéphane began to chuckle.

“Oh stop being so serious. I’m just teasing you.” Stéphane scoffed, turning again as he dropped his pencil onto his notebook once again. He began to skate toward Chris, gliding widely side to side. His hands folded behind his back. He stopped in front of Chris.

“I want your time.” Stéphane told Chris. Chris was confused. What was wrong with this guy?

“What? My _time_?” He asked. Stéphane nodded, straightening slightly.

“Fitting, isn’t it? I mean, you’re asking for my time. The only way to pay someone for their time is by giving your own.”

“…okay, yes, but I don’t know what you mean by that. Time isn’t exactly transferable.” Chris commented, dropping his hands to his hips. Stéphane looked around for a quick second.

“I want to get dinner with you once a week for every week that I am helping you.” He told Chris. This caught Chris off guard.

“What? Dinner?” He asked, confused. “But why?”

“Time is time, Giacometti.” He said plainly, shrugging lucidly. “Take it or leave it, you asked me to pick and this is what I choose.” Stéphane declared, looking away stubbornly. Chris was quiet for a minute, blinking. _What? Why would he ever…_

“Fine then.” Chris answered, red-faced again. Part of the attained color was a product of embarrassment, some was annoyance, and another part of him was…flattered? Chris turned away, skating back toward his side. Stéphane smiled.

“Good!” He said happily, skating after Chris. Chris sighed.

“Moron.” He muttered under his breath.

“You’d better watch it, Switzerland.” Stéphane remarked humorously.

Chris couldn’t help but allow his lips to form up into a small smile, his heart feeling as if it had become strangely lighter.

\---

And so now, here they sat closely together going over some of Chris’ moves that Stéphane had scribbled down inside of his notebook.

“…and this spin should scope wider, but I’m sure you know that. We’ve been working on it. You’ve really improved the fluidity in your hips.” Stéphane commented. “Your sex appeal has improved drastically.” Stéphane said lowly, a bit…roughly? Chris blinked up at him, but Stéphane did not take his eyes from the notebook. He pointed at one more move, reminding Chris of the direction his arms should move in comparison to where his skate was placed.

They concluded with the light smack of Stéphane’s notebook. The two looked at each other, as if they were first realizing just how _close_ their faces actually were to one another. Chris glanced at Stéphane’s lips, feeling his breath roll against his skin. Chris caught Stéphane’s eyes glance at his as well, and a quiet tension stretched itself around them, pulling at and condensing the air between them. Stéphane finally looked away, taking a breath. Chris did the same, the both of them settling into a more awkward state. Chris cleared his throat. They both reluctantly tried to move away from one another, but didn’t want the other man to see that he was trying to move.

“Get dinner with me.” Chris said, strained, glancing at Stéphane’s lips as their eyes met again. He resisted the urge to stare at them, instead focusing on the shade of blue in front of him. “Tomorrow. After I show Ivar the moves.” He suggested. Tomorrow was Saturday, and it would be a week since they started. It was time that Ivar saw what he had been working on. Even though he met with his coach daily, he had yet to really show him the full extent of the program they had been working on. It was hard, but Chris really wanted for Ivar to see the full difference and how much better it’d been getting. Stéphane smiled.

“Of course, I’m glad you didn’t forget, I would’ve had to drag you out,” He commented. Chris tilted his smile.

“Drag me out? For a good time? Oh, you don’t know me enough.” Chris smirked. Truth was, he found himself wanting to spend more and more time with Stéphane. They were becoming friends….or…more than that?

“Not yet, but I’m getting there…” Stéphane answered, scooching just a _bit_ closer. He was wrong about the blonde skater. Originally, his first opinion was that he was nothing other than a spoiled brat, but he noticed that Chris did indeed work very hard. Plus, he enjoyed the playfulness that Chris carried as he got to know him more. It was alluring, really.  “Your coach is going to love the changes, you look fantastic.” He said, giving Chris _that_ smile.

Stéphane had a kind of smile that lit up in the back of his eyes when something struck him. Chris saw not only saw pride and approval in it, but also perhaps something less…innocent. It reminded him of a predator who was not hunting because he needed it, but because he found _enjoyment_ in it.

Chris shook his head. “I sure hope so.” He smiled back, his hand instinctively inching to rest on the edge of his thigh.

“He will…and when he does, we will celebrate.” Stéphane added, looking down at Chris’ hand. He gently put his own hand on top of Chris’. _What…oh…_

Chris looked down at his hand, feeling Stéphane’s fingers settling in-between his own. Warmth from the contact permeated him, striking another match to add to the fire. Chris lost track of the rhythm of his heart. Was it too fast or slow? Was he breathing? Awake, even? He didn’t know. All he knew was where his hand was and where Stéphane’s hand was. On his thigh. _This is wrong._..

With the touch of his hand, Stéphane had opened up a brand new level of correspondence. Chris wasn’t sure if it could ever be undone. The sensation between the two increased as Stéphane brought Chris’ hand to his lips, gently kissing it and taking troubles away with the drawback. _This can’t be wrong…_

He turned his hand a bit in his grasp and tightened his fingers around Stéphane’s hand as the two got closer, moving as if a magnetic field had wrapped around the two of them.

They kissed slowly, just lips, exploring out each other’s reactions. This was new to Chris, but honestly he couldn’t see the wrong in it anymore. Love is love, right?

_This is irreversible._

_\---_

The next day, Chris went into practice with a new stance.

A feeling similar to waking up on the morning of a new season hung in the air. As Chris walked along the side of the street toward the rink, he couldn’t help but to check his phone when it buzzed in the pocket of his pants;

 _Good luck today!_ The message read. Chris felt his smile widen and his eyes crinkled under his sunglasses. He quickly moved to type back. _Thanks, see you tonight._ He texted back, a smirk settling into his features as he thought of Stéphane, the thoughts of their previous encounter fueling the bounce in his step. He opened the door to the rink and walked straight in, quickly down the hallway, and uncharacteristically ready for whatever his coach was going to pin into him today.

This time Chris had something to bring to the table. Maybe after this, Ivar would stop being so strict with his routine. A little bit of freedom is all he wanted. It was hard to express something so personal in his skating if he himself didn’t connect with it. That was what Viktor had always told him. He also suggested that Chris find another coach, but for some reason he never did.

Ivar had been his coach for a long time, so they were quite used to one another. Ivar had brought him this far after all. Chris looked at his coach face on, pulling off his sunglasses.

“Good morning Ivar.” He called, walking toward the bench to put his skates on. Ivar was perched by the bench, one leg on the metal and phone in hand.

“Ahh, Christophe, I just finished talking with your choreographer and-“

“ _Actually,_ ” Chris started, his finger rising up toward him. “I have a surprise for you.” He said, pride in his voice.

“Oh?” Ivar asked suspiciously, eyeing his pupil. Chris put his foot into his boot, beginning to lace it up. Ivar straightened and dropped his phone more away from his face. “Don’t tell me you and Viktor went viral with another one of your embarrassing videos again…” He grumbled. Chris looked up, his eyes shining with a grin as he flung some of his blonde hair back into place.

“First of all, fans love those “embarrassing” videos, and second of all, this has nothing to do with it.” Chris corrected, lacing up his second skate. Ivar rolled his eyes a bit. _For the fans_. Ivar scoffed in his thoughts. What about representing the country? Ivar took a minute

“Alright, Christophe.” Ivar sighed, bringing his leg off the bench straightening. “Surprise me, then.” He offered. Chris stood after another moment.

“Sure thing.” He smiled, stretching briefly before heading toward the ice.

“Why don’t you ever stretch properly, Christophe, you’re going to tear something one day, _slarvig_ (Careless).”

“Bah. I stretch all the time,” Chris answered, stepping onto the ice. “Let’s take it from the top, Ivar.” He said, moving to the middle of the ice. He began when Ivar started the music, a playful expression on his expression.

Ivar didn’t like that look. He wasn’t entranced by any sort of outward sex appeal on the ice. The ice was meant for grace, not whatever… _that_ was. He watched Chris’ exaggerated movements and newfound fluidity. Not all of it was bad, but he also didn’t know where this was coming from. Chris was _his_ skater, no one else should be touching him, teaching him. Ivar crossed his arms as Chris skated onwards, frowning.

Throughout the time, Chris had thought of Stéphane’s hands on him, guiding him, picking him up. He skated not as if the patterns were pre-inscribed into the ice, but as if he was creating the patterns himself with the blades. He wasn’t afraid of playing off of his hands either, moving them expressively to the music. The notes seemed to roll off his fingertips. He was finally feeling something.

When the music slowed, Chris ended with it. He spun down, then up, ending halfway crouched as if he were begging for something. His chest heaved, his smile still played on his features. His thoughts still projected themselves, crossing memories with fantasies.

A content and passion-filled aura met Ivar’s hardened eyes. Chris began to stand and skate toward his coach, who was standing on the ice. He searched his coach for a response. Ivar stayed quiet for a long moment, fading Chris’ lightened mood. Instead, he grew wearier with each passing moment that his coach didn’t answer.

“Who modified your program?” Ivar questioned, rolling the side of the inside of his mouth between his teeth. His gaze was unyielding, however, if you didn’t know Ivar, he seemed passive and unresponsive.

“Well, I mean, I just asked him for his help…” Chris looked away, a hand moving into his pocket.

“Who?” The older man questioned again.

“His name is Stéphane…I share the ice with him when I practice.”

“You share the ice with someone when you practice? Is he a professional skater?” Ivar was growing more impatient. Chris was Switzerland’s top skater; how could he be sharing the ice with someone?

“He’s actually a choreographer…I was watching him one day and I figured he could teach me to make my routine more…fluid?” Chris said. “I think he really helped me, don’t you think?” He tried to sound nonchalant.

“Why would you ask an outsider’s opinion, Christophe? I am your coach and you have a choreographer, the best of each, too. Why would you ever take less than what you have?” Ivar interrogated. Chris met his eyes. He didn’t think that this was the reaction he was going to get.

“It was just another opinion, Ivar…plus I really like the changes he made…it’s much more expressive.” He tried. Ivar shifted, tilting his head.

“Chris. Do you want to win?”

“Ivar-“

“Do you want to win?” Ivar asked forcefully. Chris straightened, anger boiling within him. “Because if you do, you need to stop trying to change your program. You were doing so well, but this… _this_ foolish expression is not going to earn you a gold medal. It is not a classy type of expression, Christophe.”

“A classy type of expression?” Chris asked angrily. “Have you thought that maybe I’m tired of being tied up, of being your damn puppet?”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” Ivar said, more calm. He tapped his face. “Like I told you at the end of the last season, if you want to win, you need to keep yourself in check. You need to let me help you, let me mold you. You fight me, Christophe, and that’s why you can never made it to the finals!” He tried to explain. Chris felt his jaw lock up.

“This is ridiculous. I don’t know why you don’t let me just _try,_ ” Chris said. If it didn’t work, he’d have time to modify the routine before the finals. Ivar looked at him pleadingly, skating closer to his pupil. He put his hands onto Chris’ shoulders, gently squeezing them.

“Because Christophe, I want you to make it, I really do.” He said. “I know you work hard, so I need you to follow what we are doing here…because if you can nail this routine and nail it early, you _can_ make it to the Gran Prix Finals. I know you can.” He tried, taking a softer tone. “And that’s all I want for you, it’s what all of Switzerland wants for you.” He pulled Chris into a hug, lingering around him for a moment. Chris fought his tears back. Internally, he felt his anger splitting in two directions. He was angry at himself for being so foolish. How could he ever think that Stéphane’s opinion was better than his own coach’s and choreographer. Ivar was right, he honestly had the best. However, another part of him was angry because he was, yet again, going to fight his instinct to walk out and find another, more accepting coach.

Ivar pulled away, patting him gently. “Okay? So let’s take a step back and I’ll tell you what I think we can do with your program.” He said, offering a fake, small smile. Chris nodded, frowning still. He turned and took position back at the start point, Ivar correcting most of the changes made by Stéphane.

By the end of the night, Chris had two unread messages.

Both of them were from Stéphane, which he didn’t check until he returned home to Tova, his white Persian who greeted him by jumping onto the table by the door when he walked in. He picked her up and went to his room, placing her onto the bed before slumping down onto it. He brought out his phone, scrolling to his messages.

 _I can’t wait._ The first one read. _Where do you want to go?_ Read the second. Chris sighed and began to type.

 _Never mind, something came up. Sorry._ He typed back, anger fueling him. He pressed send and then tossed his phone toward the other side of the bed. How could he ever think that asking for help from a man who wasn’t even on his level of skating was a good idea? Other than that, how could he ever _kiss_ that very same man. How naïve…

Chris buried his face in Tova, who stood and made quiet little chirps at him, pressing against one of his hands with her chin. He moved his hand with her, curling around her. Tears filled his eyes, but this time he didn’t blink them away. He let them fall. Chris heard his phone buzz a few times on the bed, but he didn’t dare look at it. 

Viktor’s voice played in his thoughts.

_“We call everything on the ice love,”_

Then why did everything feel, according to Ivar, wrong?

Chris’ fingers lightly pawed through Tova’s white fur as his world fringed in every direction like an uncapped shoelace.

\---

Chris opted to go earlier to the rink to practice because the appointment he had during that time slot was cancelled. Instead, he decided to keep his distance from Stéphane at least for today. It had been two days since they last spoke. Yesterday, he also went earlier since it was Sunday. His phone had been going off consistently a few times each day, Stéphane had been wondering where he was. He was concerned. Chris ignored him. Finally, after he had gotten home from practice and then received yet another text from Stéphane when he didn’t show up.

 _Where are you?_ It asked. Chris decided to answer.

 _I’m busy._ Chris sent back, sighing. He was still angry, somewhat at himself, also frustrated by Stéphane. His feelings didn’t stop; he would often find himself thinking about the way it felt when they had kissed…how gently the dark haired man raised Chris’ hand to his lips. It was hard to let go of, and Chris wasn’t sure he would be able to forget it, but would never admit that even to himself.

 _This is irreversible._ Chris thought for a long moment before shaking his head. He had to snap out of this. It was ridiculous. It had only been about a week or so that they had started even being remotely interested in one another. However, they had both been keeping eyes on each other for weeks, really.

The next day, Chris went back to the ice during his normal time, walking in as Stéphane was scribbling into that journal yet again. Chris tried his best to ignore him, but Stéphane stopped the moment he saw him, flooding with excitement and relief.

“Chris!” He smiled, skating quickly over to where Chris was. He stepped off the ice. “Chris where have you been, is everything alright?” He asked quickly, moving over toward him. Chris grabbed one of his skates and began to put it on roughly.

“I’m fine,” He answered, impatience in his tone. He swallowed, internally pleading for him to leave him alone. Chris did not want to fight him. Didn’t want to upset him more than he already had.

“You don’t sound fine, Christophe, what is it?” Stéphane asked, crouching down next to the blonde man next to him.

“Nothing.” Chris answered shortly, trying not to give into his urge to confess the exchange he and his coach had. He grabbed for the second skate, avoiding eye contact with Stéphane.

“…Okay well why don’t we work on your skating and you can tell me when you feel comfortable?” He asked, his hand gently moving to Chris’ knee, his thumb wrapping around to give a gentle squeeze. Chris pushed it off quickly, sliding down the bench.

“I don’t want your help; I don’t need it!” He exploded, his eyes finally meeting Stéphane’s.

“What do you mean? You were practically begging me a week ago, did your coach not like the changes?” Stéphane asked, his face hardening. Chris bit down.

“No, I just don’t need help from someone like you. They’re right, your choreography isn’t good enough for the Grand Prix Finals! Not for me, at least, not for Switzerland,” Chris declared, mostly trying to convince himself. He tried to not feel the shattering thud in his chest, but it wasn’t working. Stéphane’s expression turned from confusion to silent rage. A pang of betrayal hit him, feeling as if Chris had purposefully shoved a stone down his throat. He stood.

“Well fine then, if you don’t want my help then stay on your side of the ice leave me the hell alone.” He declared, his hands balling into fists. Chris paused a moment, dread clear in the reflection of his eyes.

“Trust me, I intend to!” He sniped back, tightening the laces on his skates. Chris broke eye contact and then stood from the bench, leaving Stéphane to watch him, confused and…hurt? It shouldn’t actually be that shocking after all; Stéphane knew from the beginning that Chris was a Prima Dona. It took them weeks to even get to the point where they could carry a civil conversation, excluding the insults.

Still, Stéphane couldn’t help but feel off-put by Chris’ reaction. It didn’t make much sense, there had to be more. However, there was no use in trying to talk to him now, not when he was acting completely unreasonable.

Oh, what the hell was he saying anyway? Chris had basically just spit in his eye and walked away even after Stéphane had dedicated his own time toward helping with his program. Stéphane shook his head as he watched Chris trying to work on his skating. He noted that most of his, _their,_ changes had been corrected again. Both resentment as well as pity hit him as he moved onto the rink and took his place back on his side of the ice. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it.

Chris, on the other hand, was trying hard to focus on his routine. After all, truly if he wanted to reach his goals he would have to kick it up a notch. He needed to clear his mind and just stick to whatever he was doing before he and Stéphane reached an association.

He knew this, and yet something in his ears still tried to call at him. It wanted him to apologize and explain himself better, to clean up his frayed edges. Chris ignored it, or tried to, replacing this voice with something angrier and ignited.

It was portrayed in his skating, Stéphane noted, and it off-set even the most frequently practiced step sequences. Frustration, impatience. The choreographer sighed as he continued to pretend that he wasn’t totally watching from the corner of his field of vision.

_Oh Christophe…_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I have this fic basically almost completely finished, unless I choose to add onto it (Which I may).  
> Let me know how you like it!


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